


Lie Fallow

by Anonymous



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Date Rape, Drunk Sex, Gaslighting, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-21 10:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He must have dreamed it.





	Lie Fallow

It was December, the end of the third year of Kira’s reign. Matsuda was getting drunk.

Their little task force bonenkai was held at the same izakaya as last year, and the year before that, and the year before that, the year L had died: a place near HQ with some of the best yakitori Matsuda had ever tasted.

There had been a lot of deaths that week. But there were a lot of deaths every week. It was endless and inescapable, a constant suffocating shroud, and Matsuda was sick of it. As he did when the numbers got too overwhelming, he focused on the silver lining: the team was still alive, and crime was at an all-time low, all over the world. There was no war. Good people—normal people, people who had nothing to do with Kira—were safe. That was something.

Each year that passed, it seemed more and more important to celebrate the simple things in life, just to remind themselves that there were some left, and that they mattered. The Chief was nearly all gray from stress, and L was still dead, and sometimes Matsuda wasn’t sure how they could possibly still win, but at least there were nights like these: good food and good drink, and good company with good people.

They could forget about the bad stuff. Just for a night. Then they’d go back to fighting in the morning.

He gorged himself on the sakana with gusto: edamame, kushiage, and of course the yakitori. Light, sitting between Matsuda and his father, poured them both sake, dutifully filling their glasses two-handed.

Light never drank much when they went out. He kept his glass carefully half-full, just enough to discourage anyone else from topping it off. It was the polite tactic of a man who preferred to keep his wits about him. But tonight, he made sure Matsuda’s glass was never empty.

So Matsuda looked a little longer than he usually allowed himself to look—a small, private indulgence.

Light, no matter what he did, was stunning. Tonight, he had the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, the first two top buttons undone; no tie, hair loose, the only accessory on him his silver Omega wristwatch. His waist was trim, his stomach flat; his belt sat on his hips perfectly, and his slacks clung invitingly to his ass and to the tops of his strong thighs. He had been beautiful as a teenager, but as a man, he was absolutely devastating.

Matsuda hadn’t been able to be honest with himself back then, when Light was just seventeen. He’d never been sure if he wanted to be him, or kiss him, or just hold his hand like a lovestruck idiot. But was there anyone who wasn’t in love with Light, just a little bit? It seemed as though every person he met fell for him. He was magnetic. It was just how he was.

He’d never planned on acting on it. Of course not. It was just a silly crush, like the one he’d had on L. Matsuda had always been enamored with smart, capable people; they were just so… incredible.

But L had been the kind of smart you looked at from a distance. A peculiar, massive intelligence that dissociated itself from other people, that operated like a lighthouse on a blurry dim shore, bright and piercing, a beacon and a guide, never close enough to touch. Well, Light had gotten the closest, maybe. But not regular people. Not people like Matsuda.

But Light—Light was approachable, sociable. Brilliant, and charismatic, and human, and beautiful enough to make Matsuda’s stupid crush that much more debilitating.

He never would’ve been able to do anything about it, anyway. Not in a million years. Chief Yagami… well, Matsuda had much more of a shot with Sayu than with Light, and he was pretty sure the Chief might actually kill him if he ever got near his daughter, romantically.

And he didn’t want to disappoint the Chief, no matter what.

He was a little too drunk to be thinking about it. They were risky thoughts. But it was so hard to ignore them when Light was looking so gorgeous, smiling and laughing and glancing at Matsuda every time he spoke, brown eyes sparkling in the warm pub lights. He must have been in a really good mood; usually he was much more restrained. And Matsuda couldn’t help but smile back, happier than he’d been in a long time, even happier to see Light so open and unburdened.

It was only when he was several drinks in, laughing at his own stupid joke, that Light put his hand high up on his thigh, and he realized—with an odd, dull sort of vertigo—that Light had been flirting with him all along.

He abruptly stopped laughing. His face bloomed with heat. Light squeezed his thigh, very gently. Nobody else had seen. The lip of the table hid his hand, and they were all too drunk and distracted by the story Mogi was telling to notice the angle of his arm.

“Light-kun?” he whispered, confused. Maybe he’d misunderstood. There was no way.

Something flickered in Light’s eyes—annoyance?—no, because his mouth was curving into a gentle, tempting smile. His hand crept higher, a burning weight. Matsuda swallowed. Light leaned in.

“Matsuda,” he said, slowly, patiently, in a silky tone of voice Matsuda had never heard from him before. It tied his gut into shivery knots. “I want you to come home with me.”

He couldn’t have put it any more bluntly.

“Oh,” Matsuda said, stupidly, and, even more stupidly, nodded.

Light smiled again, pleased and secretive. All of sudden, he seemed so boyish—like the younger Light, the bright, idealistic schoolboy, back when they'd first met. Matsuda’s mind swam, giddy with warm, drunken disbelief.

He should have said no. He shouldn’t be agreeing to go home with a coworker, no matter how young or attractive. A coworker, and another coworker’s _son_ , at that. If Chief Yagami found out—

Light made Matsuda’s excuses for him. They went back to Light’s apartment.

  
⋅ ⋅ ⋅

  
Light was kissing him before they’d even gotten over the threshold.

But then they were inside, and Light put him up against the back of the door, crowding him in. His shoulder-blades hit the wood, and so did his skull, but the feeling was so exhilarating that Matsuda just laughed, intoxicated with reckless joy. He couldn’t believe it. He had to be the luckiest man in Japan. In the world!

Then an awful, delayed thought shattered into him. The joy drained away.

How could he have just—forgotten? Maybe he’d still been waiting for the other shoe to drop, that Light didn’t actually mean it the way Matsuda thought he did, but now that they were actually _kissing_ —he couldn’t ignore it.

He put a hand on Light’s chest. Their mouths parted. Light’s breath puffed softly against his lips. “Wait,” Matsuda said, stomach twisting in apprehension, the uneasy feeling of it cutting through his buzz. “What about Misa?”

He knew she was out of town for some film work, so they wouldn’t be interrupted, but that was exactly why it felt wrong. Like Light was going behind her back. Well, he was, wasn’t he? That was the only reason Matsuda had been invited over—because Misa wouldn’t be there to catch them, right?

Light’s eyelashes lowered in something that looked like regret.

“We’re taking a break,” he said. His eyes were pinched, and he seemed abruptly sad. “She’s never been able to satisfy me, for obvious reasons.”

Matsuda was unsure. He got it, he did, but he couldn’t stop imagining Misa’s hurt, angry face. “It still doesn’t feel right,” he said. “If she found out, wouldn’t she be upset?”

“She knows,” Light said, and kissed him again.

“She—does?” Matsuda mumbled, half-muffled between Light’s persistent kisses. He was swept up in the way Light used his mouth, the way his body caged him in. He felt too good, too pleasantly drunk, to put up much of a fight. And surely, if Misa knew, it was all right? It wasn’t like they were married… and if Light said it was okay… it wasn’t any of Matsuda’s business, anyway.

Light slid a leg in between Matsuda’s thighs, gently applying pressure, and Matsuda stopped thinking about Misa. Their hips slotted together in an easy, satisfying grind, and he was dizzy from just the feeling of Light’s thigh against him, leisurely coaxing his cock to fill. He gave a small moan, clutching at Light’s biceps, brimming with slow, syrupy delight.

Like this, Light had him completely pinned. Matsuda melted against him. It was so nice to be held. Nice to be touched. He’d wanted it for so long that it almost didn’t matter how he got it.

Finally, Light drew away, and pulled Matsuda with him by the waist.

Matsuda nearly tripped over himself trying to get his shoes off before they left the genkan. Light was already in his sock-feet, walking them backward toward the bedroom, and then inside. He pushed Matsuda down onto the bed and crawled on after him, legs bracketing his hips, lips on his throat, fingers at his tie, skillfully unknotting it.

“Wait,” Matsuda said, Adam’s apple bobbing against Light’s eager mouth. “I’m not sure—“

Light kissed him again, cutting him off, and it was such a nice kiss that Matsuda let it keep going, let Light slip the tie from around his neck and toss it aside, let him untuck his dress shirt and pick his collar open. Light was halfway down the rest of the buttons when Matsuda took hold of his wrists and stopped him, swallowing.

“Light, wait.” He had to blink several times to get Light back in focus.

Light drew back. He looked like he was ready to eat him alive. “What’s wrong?”

“I just—“ Matsuda flushed. What _was_ wrong? Light wanted to fuck him; he should be ecstatic. Still, he hesitated. “Can we slow down? Just kissing is nice.”

Light’s eyes seemed to burn gold. He leaned in again, blanketing Matsuda’s body with his own. He pushed their hips together, and Matsuda moaned against his mouth, rocking up to meet those small, rolling thrusts. The feeling was amazing. Light’s lips on his, his slick tongue, his weight—the hot, hard press of his cock, lined up just right. It was spine-shiveringly good. Just that was enough.

They stayed that way for several minutes, knees tangled, lazily rutting, kissing long and slow; Light’s hands buried in his hair, Matsuda gripping his shallowly pumping hips. But then Light was reaching down, getting a hand between them, palming his cock through his inseam. Matsuda gasped; Light's fingers curled, and he started stroking him determinedly through his slacks. Matsuda’s alcohol-soaked mind hummed in startled pleasure. He broke away. “Light-kun—”

Light hushed him with a smile and another kiss. It felt like he was being chastised, somehow. “It’s okay. I’ll make you feel good. You just have to let me.”

What was the harm? Light _wanted_ this, with him— _him!_ —and that was incredible. Too much, almost. Matsuda had never dreamed it could happen, never in a million years. He couldn’t pass it up. He had to take the chance. What if he didn’t, and Light decided he wasn’t worth the effort? He couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing him.

“Okay,” he whispered, but Light had already opened his belt and was sliding it through the loops, letting it fall, clinking, to the side. He reached beneath the waistband of Matsuda’s boxers and got a hand around his cock, palm smooth and tight. Matsuda tensed, but Light kissed his neck, smiling, and put his lips to Matsuda’s ear.

“You know, I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he murmured, beginning to jerk him steadily. Matsuda’s face burned. His breath caught.

“Really?”

“You’re a valuable member of my team, Matsuda.”

Right. His team. Light was L now, after all. Matsuda was still getting used to it, but privately, he didn’t think he ever would.

Light’s fist glided up his cock and squeezed the head. Matsuda’s hips bucked. He clutched at Light's shoulders. “You’ve done so much for me, for my dad. For this investigation. You deserve a reward.”

“I—never did any of it for a reward,” Matsuda stammered; Light let go of him. “I just want to—to do the right thing.”

“I know you do. So do I.”

Light slid down his body until he was kneeling on the floor before the bed, hands spread on Matsuda’s thighs. Matsuda propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at him, stunned. His stomach swooped with jittery arousal.

“Light-kun…” he said, but stopped. The thought of Light’s pretty mouth on his cock had been a fantasy for years. Still, he scrambled for an excuse. His palms felt clammy. “I haven’t showered since this morning,” he said nervously. “Shouldn’t we—”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. It was embarrassing. But Light still hooked his fingers into the waistband of his slacks and boxers and pulled them down over his thighs. Matsuda lifted up, letting Light take them off him completely, feeling teenage-awkward in just his half-unbuttoned work shirt and his socks, old and grey with a hole in one of the heels.

He was thirty years old. Light’s senior, in age, if not in rank. How did Light make him feel so young?

Light’s hand curled back around the base of his cock. His lips were so close; Matsuda could feel the caress of his warm, damp breath. He looked up at Matsuda from beneath his fringe, agonizingly attractive. His mouth drew into a coy smile. Matsuda’s cock gave a little jerk. He felt winded already.

Light kissed the tip; a generous press of lips, a touch of tongue.

“L-Light-kun,” Matsuda whispered. He couldn’t look; his head flopped back with a groan. Light’s mouth sunk slowly over the head of his dick, an unending, overwhelming sheathe of slick heat. Matsuda felt him lick up against the crown, felt him bob and suck; he stared up at the ceiling, unseeing.

The heat withdrew. He looked back down, dazed. Light had drawn off his cock, lips shiny, and had opened his own fly. His hand was fisted around himself, stroking in long, even pulls. The sight hit Matsuda like an oncoming train. His dick twitched again, straining back toward Light’s mouth. But Light got to his feet, put a hand on the nape of Matsuda’s neck, and pulled at him until he was sitting up, eyes level with his cock.

Matsuda understood what Light wanted him to do. His gut churned, but it was only fair.

“I-I’ve never—” he said, but Light’s hand was already curling around the back of his head, urging him forward. “Just try,” he said, softly encouraging, but there was something in his tone that rang familiar: a hint of impatience, of annoyed exasperation. It was a tone everyone took with him, eventually. _Shut up, Matsuda_.

Light’s cock pushed past his lips.

It was strange. Light was heavy on his tongue, and so warm. Matsuda squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to mimic the motions Light had used on him, minding his teeth. Up, down. Maybe he could get into this. It was meditative, the slide, the weight. Repetitive, calming. He’d always enjoyed making other people feel good, and the way Light twitched on his tongue, the heat and intimacy—that was good too.

Light gave a low hum of pleasure and encouragement. Then his hips kicked forward, his cock shoving bluntly into the back of Matsuda’s throat. Matsuda gagged and pulled off, eyes stinging. His vision swam wetly.

“Sorry,” Light said. His brown eyes glittered. He ran a hand through Matsuda’s hair and tipped his chin back up. Matsuda swallowed. His throat felt sticky and raw. He blinked up at Light, glassy-eyed.

He was so gorgeous. How could one person be so gorgeous?

“I’m going to fuck you,” Light said. Matsuda’s heart thudded dully in his chest.

“You are?” he croaked. “But—”

Light smiled that beautiful, tempting smile. He bent forward to kiss him, soft and persuasively sweet, and Matsuda could feel himself melting again, hopelessly folding over, powerless to resist.

“Just trust me,” Light said. “You’ll love it.”

“It’s just,” Matsuda said faintly, hating how weak and slurry he sounded, “I’m sorry, Light. You’d be—the first, um, guy, and. I. I don’t know if I can do it yet.”

“Of course you can. I know you can.” That tone again. _Shut up, Matsuda. Don’t be an idiot._ Light caressed his cheek, softening his voice. “I’ll take care of you.”

Matsuda nodded, feeling woozy. Trust Light. Okay. He could do that.

Light pushed him back and walked him up the bed, knees on either side of his thighs, until Matsuda’s head hit the pillows. Their bare cocks slid together, wet with each other’s saliva. Light kissed him and wrapped a hand around them both, loosely stroking; Matsuda moaned into his mouth and clutched at his waist, needing something to hang on to. His stomach was in knots. He felt sick with nerves.

No. He could do this. It was just sex. Sex was good. Sex was amazing. It was going to be amazing.

Light turned him onto his front.

Matsuda fought back a murky swell of disappointment. He knew this was how it was done, but he’d wanted to see Light’s face, at least.

“Do we have to do it this way?”

Even to his own ears, he sounded like he was whining, but Light’s hands were firm and decisive as he hiked up his hips, spreading Matsuda’s knees apart.

“It’s easier like this.” _Shut up, Matsuda._

Matsuda put his head on his forearms and took a few deep, calming breaths. His head felt like a tide pool, full of warm water, lapping around in waves. “Okay,” he mumbled, and tried to slip back into the loose, pleasurable headspace of a happy drunk. He felt Light moving behind him, heard the slick sounds of lube coating flesh, and jolted at the first touch of a slippery finger against his hole, petting gently, just barely dipping in.

He froze up. 

This was wrong. This felt all wrong.

“Relax.” The sweet, soothing tone was back.

Matsuda squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay,” he said again, bracing himself. _Okay._ The fingertip pressed further in. He flinched reflexively. Light withdrew and stroked at the tight, flexing muscle, soothing him. Matsuda's cock throbbed. He breathed in. Out.

It was going to be fine. He was in good hands. Light had said it would feel good. _Trust me. Relax._

He relaxed.

Light took his time. Matsuda wasn’t in any pain, not with how gentle Light was being, but it was still an uncomfortable, foreign sensation. Matsuda had always wondered what it would be like to be penetrated, but he’d never gotten up the courage to try, shying away any time the opportunity presented itself, fingers skittering nervously back around to his cock. He’d never imagined he’d end up being the one with someone else inside him, never imagined it would be Light, never thought… never even dreamed.

But he had. He’d dreamed it. He’d wanted this.

The seconds ticked by. Matsuda lost track of time. He was dripping onto the sheets, his cock a locus of pulsing heat. Occasionally, Light reached down to cup his balls, rolling them in his wet palm, then drew back up to dip his fingers back in, two at a time, teasing them in tender, fluid twists.

It was good. It was more than good. So much more than he'd been prepared for.

He wouldn’t have minded if Light kept on fingering him, wouldn’t have minded coming like that. Except that he stopped, and Matsuda felt the blunt press of something thicker than a pair of fingers start to push inside of him. He locked up and looked over his shoulder, fighting down panic. The motion made him dizzy, brain sloshing around his skull like an egg in a glass, and he had to put his head down again.

“Wait,” he said, panting, casting around for any excuse to slow down. Too much. Too much bare skin. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t you put on a condom?”

“I’m clean, and I know you're clean too. Trust me, it feels better like this.” _Shut up, Matsuda._

Light didn’t wait. He pushed in the rest of the way, a gradual, unstoppable plunge, and Matsuda completely forgot how to breathe.

The stretch didn’t really hurt, not after all that preparation, but it still felt wrong: his lungs stuttered, his muscles trembled, his head throbbed, and Light just _kept going_. Cold sweat gathered at his temples. He tried to breathe long and deep, tried to get a grip. Tried to relax. And then—it was done. Light was in all the way. So deep, Matsuda could almost feel him lodged in the back of his throat; stuck, like a lozenge. He swallowed against the sensation, shivering all over.

Light stroked the small of his back. “You’re doing so well, Matsuda,” he said, sounding warm and fond and soothing, so nice, just like a lover should. In any other instance, it was exactly what Matsuda would have wanted to hear—but right now, he didn’t feel like he was doing well at all, didn't want the praise, didn't need the encouragement. He felt like he was about to split apart at the seams. Or right down the middle, like rice paper. Every inch of his skin was crawling. He was skewered, like a fish on a spear, slowly asphyxiating.

And then Light began to move.

It felt like a long, drawn-out gut punch. Over and over. Matsuda whimpered and clutched at the sheets, nauseous with unexpected pleasure. Light held his hips and helped guide him back onto his cock, rocking into him with lazy, measured thrusts, and he couldn’t stop it, could only hold on and take it, wobbly and sick and drunk, and so full, so full and stupid and _good._

His eyes grew hot. Why was he crying? _Stop,_ he told himself. He might have said it out loud, but it was lost against the pillows, within the lewd, surreal sounds of flesh meeting flesh. _What’s wrong with you? Just enjoy it!_

Light’s hand was in his hair, pulling and stroking. He was messing it up, making it wilder—a deliberate tangle of black that Matsuda would have to comb out in the morning. A tangle like—

A fragment of realization caught in his throat, and suddenly, he understood.

_Oh._

He should’ve guessed. He should’ve known.

How could he have been so _stupid?_

_Don’t think about it. It’ll be over soon. It’ll all be over._

But it wasn’t.

Light fucked him for what felt like forever, harder and harder, until Matsuda was numb and incoherent, a live wire of bludgeoning, gut-writhing pleasure. Light was a brand inside him, pistoning inescapably, hitting something on each stroke that made him feel like hot liquid molasses. He was going to come. Everything was wound so tight, his cock was _aching_ , each throb like a physical caress. He was so close.

“Please,” he whispered, eyes rolling into the back of his head. _Please let it end._ “Light-kun— _please_ —”

“Just take it,” Light hissed.

Matsuda groaned into the pillow, a long, animal noise, and went over. Everything twisted into white-hot ecstasy. He came hard, completely untouched, cock jerking in long, hot spurts; his spine arched like a bow, every muscle screaming. Light fucked him through it, one hand fisted in his hair, pushing him down. Breathless, laughing low.

Laughing?

He felt Light pound into him a few more times and then roughly pull out, breathing hard. Wet heat streaked across his ass and the small of his back. Matsuda couldn’t think. He could barely move, heaving in deep sobs of breath. He collapsed into his own mess.

A minute passed. Then Light rolled him over. For a moment, Matsuda was sure he was going to kiss him, but Light just held his head very still, and licked the tear tracks from his cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” he said. “Didn’t that feel good?”

Matsuda was too overwhelmed to process what Light had just done. He felt empty, as if Light had made him hollow somehow, scooped out his insides and dumped them somewhere else. Somewhere where things made sense. He couldn’t make himself say a thing; he just lay there, numb, feeling the warm saliva drying on his cheeks. He thought about what had just happened, and whether or not to accept it. Light, as usual, made the decision for him.

“Say it felt good, Matsuda.”

“It felt good,” Matsuda whispered. Some part of him knew it was true. He didn't want to lie. “Thank you.”

Light smiled, and it was the first time Matsuda didn’t like how it looked. It was too sharp, too cruel. It scared him.

But as soon as it had come, it was gone, and Light was squeezing his shoulder with gentle reassurance. “I’ll be right back.”

Matsuda stared into nothing. A light flicked on in the bathroom, and then off again. Light returned with a damp washcloth, a little white tablet, and a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Matsuda said, bleary and hoarse. “What is it?”

“Paracetamol. It’ll help with any soreness.”

He must have been more drunk and exhausted than he thought, because he took the painkiller, wiped himself clean, and the next thing he knew, he’d passed out right there in Light’s bed.

  
⋅ ⋅ ⋅

  
Matsuda woke up on the couch.

He blinked, groggily bewildered. The couch? He almost never slept on the couch. Not when the futon was almost always rolled out when he got home from work, right where he’d left it.

No, he realized. Not _the_ couch. A couch. Someone’s else’s couch.

He sat up slowly. His head swam. He pressed a hand to his forehead and took a few deep, calming breaths. It felt like his entire brain had swollen to the size of a melon.

“You’re awake,” said a voice, and Matsuda turned carefully to see Yagami Light, mug of coffee in hand, leaning against the kitchen counter. Light’s kitchen counter.

“Light-kun?”

Then he remembered. A hand on his thigh. Light’s low, coaxing voice. The ache of his cock. Of being filled. Fingers in his hair.

Matsuda swallowed. The words were spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Last night—”

Light cut him off gently. “It’s fine, Matsuda. You needed a place to stay, and I was happy to help out.”

Matsuda’s brow furrowed. “I—what? No, I mean.” He flushed, abruptly confused. “We…”

Light was looking at him quizzically, with vague, friendly concern. “What are you talking about?”

Matsuda stared at him. His heart dropped. He felt cold.

No. Wait. Was… hadn’t they… Matsuda blinked rapidly. His memories were fuzzy, and he’d been drunk—really drunk—but it had happened. Right? He remembered it. Not all the way, maybe; it was more… blurry images. Feelings. Had Light been drunk too? Had _he_ forgotten?

He reached up. His hair wasn’t tangled, or even all that messy. It was exactly as it had been, a casual side part, if a little limp and greasy. Not wild. Not anything.

Mouth dry, he looked down at himself. He was fully dressed. His clothes were rumpled, and he’d sweated a little through his shirt, but he was far from indecent. Even his tie was still on.

His gut clenched in fear and shame, and he shifted on the couch, suddenly panicked. He didn’t _feel_ sore. But then, Light had been careful, very careful, to take his time. Or had he dreamed that?

He must have. He must have dreamed it.

“Matsuda?”

Matsuda's head jerked back up. His hands were shaking, for some reason. “Light-kun, what happened last night?”

Light blinked at him. “We went out for the bonenkai, remember? But you had a little too much to drink, so I offered you my couch for the night. You ended up passing out the minute you got here.”

“Oh.” Matsuda felt strangely hollow. Either it hadn’t happened, or… no. It hadn’t. Light wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t lie about something like that. No, of course not. If they’d had sex, why was he on the couch? Why was he still dressed? Why would Light act like nothing had happened?

Because nothing had. _Don’t be stupid, Matsuda._

He offered a shaky smile. “Sorry. I guess I had a weird dream.”

Light smiled back. Matsuda’s heart skipped. He was so handsome. Who _wouldn’t_ dream about something like that? “Don't worry about it, Matsuda. It happens. You drank a lot. Can I get you some water? Coffee? Breakfast?”

Matsuda wanted none of those things. He wanted—he wanted to go home.

He shook his head, feeling it throb in protest. He pressed his fingers into his temples. “Actually, I think I should go.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Light’s face was the picture of genuine, gentle concern. It was making Matsuda’s head spin. No, he was being an idiot. He’d had too much to drink, and work had been stressful, and so many people had died, and were still dying, and Light was just being kind. He always was.

“I’m fine,” he said, and willed himself to believe it. “It’s just like you said. Drank a little too much.” He forced a laugh, flimsy and fake-sounding, but Light seemed to accept it.

“Do you want me to call you a taxi?”

“I’ll take the train.” _Say it felt good._ Matsuda swallowed, flushing. He stood up. _Thank you._ “Um. Thanks, though.”

Light gave him another sweet, boyish smile. “Then I’ll see you at work.”

“Yeah. Bye, Light.” Matsuda got on his coat and his shoes, and then stopped in the genkan. “I didn’t—”

Light looked at him over the rim of his mug. “Hm?”

“I didn’t… do anything stupid, did I?”

“Stupid?” Light appeared nonplussed. “What do you mean?”

Matsuda’s heart sank. He waved a hand, laughing again. “Forget it.”

He took the train back to his apartment.

_Forget it._

He’d try.

**Author's Note:**

> (It wasn’t paracetamol.)


End file.
